


Saddest Poem

by fleshlycherry



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Pablo Neruda - Freeform, poem fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleshlycherry/pseuds/fleshlycherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William was never a very good poet but that doesn't mean he didn't have poetry in his soul.  It certainly doesn't mean he lost that poetry when he lost his soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saddest Poem

**Author's Note:**

> Saddest Poem was written by the brilliant Pablo Neruda.

_I can write the saddest poem of all tonight._

 _Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,  
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."_

But I was William the Bloody, so no matter what I wrote about sadness or beautiful stars it would be bloody awful and Cecily would laugh.

 _The night wind whirls in the sky and sings._

Drusilla though, Dru understood. Things were always singing to her and I was effulgent.

 _I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.  
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too._

She loved me whenever Angelus wasn't there breaking her and telling her that she liked it.

 _On nights like this, I held her in my arms.  
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky._

A sky that would draw beautiful pictures for her; a bowl of lemons, a snail on a blade of grass. What ever the hell she wanted.

 _She loved me, sometimes I loved her.  
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?_

Eyes, so beautiful, even though they'd focus in the middle distance on things only she could see. I loved her always. Except when he called and she went to him like a dog to scraps.

 _I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.  
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her._

Lost her when Daddy came home. When we were a family again. When we could all be happy again.

 _To hear the immense night, more immense without her.  
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass._

I didn’t hear the night, but she did. And now the secrets it tells her, well she only tells him.

 _What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.  
The night is full of stars and she is not with me._

My love wasn’t good enough, wasn’t the love of the man who made her hear the stars in the first place. Not that he loved her.

 _That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.  
My soul is lost without her._

My soul is lost because of her; and she sings. She sang to me after she took my soul, a lullaby.

 _As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.  
My heart searches for her and she is not with me._

I see her, where she always is now. With him. My heart's with her. Always. She just don't remember sometimes.

 _The same night that whitens the same trees.  
We, we who were, we are the same no longer._

I remember her wearing white dresses and moonlight that made her glow as she wavered on her little slippered feet. Now, she's standing up strong in red and heels.

 _I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.  
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear._

I loved her better then. I whispered it in her ear night after night. Now his sibilant voice hisses in her head.

 _Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once belonged to my kisses.  
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes._

Someone else’s. His. His hand on her ribcage from behind.

“She never belonged to you Spikey. Just a loan.”

Her head nodding in obedience.

 _I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.  
Love is so short and oblivion so long._

I don’t love her now, I loved what she was when she was mine. A black goddess I called her. And she was.

 _Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,  
my soul is lost without her._

Nights like this we'd dance while the stars sang to her. Twirling, dancing. My soul is lost because of her.

 _Although this may be the last pain she causes me,  
and this may be the last poem I write for her._

 

 _sunlight_


End file.
